


Frayed Ends

by qualapec



Category: Pokemon
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualapec/pseuds/qualapec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At that, he laughed. “I will live and die by what I am.”</p><p>“That’s right. You will.” Her voice was much sadder than she ever thought it would be. “These are times of peace, why would you want to disturb that?”</p><p>“Because I’m selfish and people are vicious. If it keeps me warm, I’ll let the world burn.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frayed Ends

**Author's Note:**

> A plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone after listening to the musical. I kinda just ran with it.
> 
> This fic made me feel very nostalgic =)

Delia paused at the front door of her home, one of three grocery bags held against her chest while her Mimey followed, holding the other two. The paper bag crumpled musically as she produced her key from her sundress. The key slid in and turned without resistance, with no satisfying click of a lock sliding out of place. She frowned, because she could have sworn she locked it when she left. Pallet town was small, and the only person that knew how to find the key under the stone in the garden was Professor Oak; the rock and the ground around it was undisturbed. She pressed a shoulder against the heavy door, shoving her way inside.

The sense of abnormality that had been coiling in her chest immediately became alarm; she knew something was wrong even before she saw the Persian sitting in the light cast from the door, tail curled around its feet, watching her with an expression somewhere between loving amusement and cruel glee. It was innate, the sense of being in the presence of a predator, and she offhandedly told Mimey to wait outside, setting the grocery bag down on the front step before moving inside. She walked past the Persian, giving the cat a pat on the head as she did so, and the Pokémon purred in response.

A man was sitting at her kitchen table, dressed in a dark greatcoat. He was slightly older than her, but well taken care of, and he had a rich, dark tan that said his family came from outside Kanto. His fedora was placed on the center of the table, and beside it rested a bottle of the wine she used for cooking and special occasions – he’d taken the liberty of pouring himself a generous glass of it while he waited for her.

Delia frowned. His shoes probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.

“Delia,” he greeted, and his voice sounded like marbled hundred dollar bills, “have a seat.”

Inclining her head, she took a seat at her table. “I must say, I didn’t expect this.”

“I’ve recently encountered certain…issues relating to my organization.”

Delia knew all about his organization, and she didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of issues?”

“The kind where men are trying to find me and want me dead – problematic, but not unusual.” He ran a hand over the wine glass absently, finger trailing delicately, thoughtfully from the neck to the base. It was the kind of small, insignificant gesture he’d used with her, that always made her blush. “I’m being forced to abandon my Kanto offices until I can strike back.”

“I’m not sure how I can help with that, Giovanni.” She’d tried using his first name before, but it always just sounded wrong. He was Giovanni to her, he always would be.

“I don’t expect you to.” The look on his face told her that if he did expect her help, he would have told her before then.  “I just wanted to tie up a loose end before I left.” Probably forever. He didn’t know.

Delia sighed, and the anxiety rattling her bones fell out as the weight of fourteen years sank down on her. One hand reached to the bottle of wine, and she poured herself a large drink. She would need it.

“I don’t understand. You never cared before now. You’ve known about Ash for some time. You’ve had every opportunity,” she broke off, and a thin streak of steel worked its way into her voice, “you’ve hurt him knowing that. I really don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

Giovanni smirked, and it had a hint of cruelty to it, the reminder that, if he wanted to, he could snap her like a twig…but there was nothing to be gained by it in it, so he wouldn’t. “Delia, motherhood has made you straightforward.”

“Motherhood didn’t teach me that some people can’t be trusted.” She let it hang in the air for a beat, then swallowed. “You did.”

For a breath, his face was unreadable, and then he decided to move on. “In answer to your comment from earlier, I’ve never felt the need to know before now.”

“Why now?” Delia whispered. “Does it change anything?”

Giovanni rocked back in her chair and it creaked in response, he knotted his fingers in front of him, his regard was cool, unshaken. “I don’t suppose it does. I could hardly tailor him to be my heir at this point, and I’m sure your son knowing the truth could only hurt him. My guess is that you have an aversion to that.”

“You guess correctly.”

“Curiosity, Delia,” he replied. “I’m simply curious.” She saw his tongue playing at the place where she knew his tooth to be chipped. “I am faced with an opponent that will kill me if I give him the opportunity. Or I’ll kill him. Right now, I can’t deny he has the advantage. There are some things a man starts to think about when faced with such poor chances…and before I left the region, I had to know. From you.”

Delia felt sick, and a little dizzy. It was more words – more words from the heart – than he’d spoken to her the entire time they were together, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it after fourteen years of not being around him, trying not to think about him and the secret that threatened to eat a hole in her stomach. “It’s not too late to change things.”

At that, he laughed. “I will live and die by what I am.”

“That’s right. You will.” Her voice was much sadder than she ever thought it would be. “These are times of peace, why would you want to disturb that?”

“Because I’m selfish and people are vicious. If it keeps me warm, I’ll let the world burn.” The scary part was that, when he said that, he was being perfectly honest with her. He was every bit the honest liar, the honest manipulator, the user, but he’d always been frank with her about what he was and what he was after from other people. To a girl who had grown up thinking sharing was caring, the greed was like a drug and he kept pushing it the entire time they wore the red and black uniform.

Delia stared into his eyes for a long time, and she felt the weight of everything shared between them, years and a bridge burned and twisted to the point of breaking, like the heart strings of a Charizard too old to fly. “Ash is your son. He’s been told his entire life that his father had to leave to pursue his own path. Someday, he’ll understand what that really means, and until then he’ll idolize and try to live up to the image of a man he’s never met.” She took a sip of the wine, and she wasn’t happy with the old edge of cynicism her words were gathering, “Who is actually a man he has met, and who tried to take away everything from him. And his mother will try to protect him from that truth as long as she can. Are you happy now? Does that satisfy your curiosity? What did you _want_ me to say, Giovanni?”

Delia rose to her feet, and realized that the volume of her voice betrayed the hurt she’d been trying not to feel for the better part of two decades. She was tired of smothering it with smiles and cooking and gardening.

Giovanni had blanched, his expression flat, and she realized he’d wished for a negative. “Dear Delia, I taught you so much about lying. You couldn’t bother to lie to me about this?”

She held her head high. “I’ve been lying for years. I’m done.”

Without waiting for a response, she stormed back to where she’d left Mimey and her groceries, leaving Giovanni where he was. He could leave again for all she cared. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him to leave just yet, but she didn’t want him around either. She brought everything around to the back door, to the kitchen, and ignored her Pokémon’s look of concern.

She could tell from the look of surprise on her Pokémon’s face that Giovanni had soundlessly entered the kitchen behind her, and she said he was a friend and left it at that. They were nervous, both Mimey and the Persian, but she knew it was just a reflection of her tension, and _his_ tension. She faced the sink and tried to ignore him.

“There was a time you couldn’t be in the same room without staring at me.”

Delia didn’t reply, just turned on the faucet and let it run to the point of scalding heat and steam.

And then he was behind her, hand fisted into her ponytail. It wasn’t a threat – it was a gesture from a very long time ago, and she found herself oddly relaxed by it. Despite herself, she leaned back into him. He’d always been more physical than anything else, always conveyed what he wanted most clearly through touch. He rested his other hand on the side of the sink, and she held one rough, domestic palm to the back of his hand. It had been so long…

“I was wrong, it does change things,” he said into her ear, and it was spat more like an inconvenience, the closest he ever came to displaying _feeling_.

“No,” she replied, “it doesn’t.” She turned to face him, and tried not to think of how compromising this looked, of how the people in her nice, normal little life would think of her if they saw her with _him_ of all people. Then he leaned into her, smelling like sandalwood, and she didn’t know what she thought. She gathered herself. “I may not know much about gang politics…but I know that if your enemy, whoever they are, knows he’s your son, they’ll use him against you.”

“And you don’t want to hurt him,” he finished with a smirk, and a hand rose to her jaw. “I tried so hard to show you how much fun being self-centered can be. You had none of it.”

“I still won’t.”

He stopped. She froze. The reminder that they were very different people, the reason why she hadn’t stayed with him, why she opted to raise her child on her own, drove between them like a wedge again. “I’m here,” she said quietly, “if you ever change your mind. I can’t say I’ll be here forever but…for now.”

Giovanni, the man who always had a plan, a comeback, a fist or a pen or a checkbook, said nothing in response. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and she neither resisted nor embraced it.

As quickly as he’d come back into her life, he left.


End file.
